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Fix it.
I grab the hem of her cream dress and pull it to her waist, planting my face in her neck.
I’m sorry.
I just need some time to figure this out.
My plan works just as I’d hoped. She’s mine in a heartbeat, grappling at my T-shirt, her breath diminishing. I kiss her hard, molding her boobs, my despondency fading, quickly replaced with hunger. Starvation. Need. “Are you wet?”
“Yes.” She yanks at my T-shirt, and her urgency spurs my own. Her desperation is like a shot of adrenalin. She wants our normal back too, and our normal is this unrestrained wildness. We can’t get enough of each other, and I’m banking on that to carry us through.
My hand journeys from her breast to her knickers, and I unfasten my fly and let my weeping cock fall into it. I yank her lacy knickers aside, pull her thigh to my waist, and ram into her unforgivingly on a yell, my desperation getting the better of me. She screams.
“Quiet,” I order, knowing Sarah could be lurking around, and the last thing I need is her coming to investigate and interrupting me.
I smash into her hard, the weight of my torment provoking me. Her head drops onto my shoulder. “Do you feel me, Ava?”Do you feel how vital you are to me in maintaining my sanity?“Answer the question!”
“Yes,” she screams. “I feel you.”
I smash on, pushing her higher up the door and me further into delirium. She’s lost, her mind empty except for me. Me and the pleasure I give her. “Does it feel good?”
“Oh God, yes!”
I kiss her with unjustified vigor, sweating hard. “I said, quiet.”
Her nails sink deeper into my shoulders, and I hiss, the pressure in my cock becoming painful. I’m going to come so fucking hard, and I need her there with me.
Her body jacks, she shudders violently, she screams, and it’s like rocket fuel to my dick. I explode inside her, smashing my fist into the door by her head, every muscle tightening to stem the sensitivity.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I gasp for air, my lungs on fire, feeling her walls gripping me mercilessly. My face slips against the wet skin of her neck, her pores leaking pure sex. “I might bring you to work every day,” I whisper through my labored breathing, clenching my eyes shut as I slowly ease out of her. She looks dazed. Lifeless. “Are you okay?”
She stays where she is, leaning on me for support. Always. I hope. “Don’t let go of me.”
I laugh lightly. Never. I lean back with a small smile as she locates some air to puff her damp hair from her wet face.
“Hi,” she squeaks.
“She’s back.” I kiss her affectionately and pick her up, knowing she’s not capable of walking. And I like carrying her. I place her on the couch and sort myself out, relishing the smile she’s holding back. She’s happy. But as I consider this room—and the shit that has gone down in here over the last two weeks—it makes me want to get rid of every item of furniture and start again. Fresh slate.No erroneous, unforgivable mistakes.But for now, I’ll focus on the good, and that is Ava. She’s been out of my arms for a matter of seconds, and I already miss her. So I put myself on the couch and drag her onto my lap. “I thought you could go up to the extension and start drafting some ideas.” And while she’s there, I’m going to write that list of things we need to talk about.
She looks taken aback, and for a moment I wonder if I said that out loud. “You still want me to design?” she asks.
“Of course I do.”
“I thought you just wanted me for my body.” Her eyebrows rise, and I wrinkle my nose, reaching for her nipple and giving it a little flick.
I want her for many things. Peace, purpose, distraction, and because I’m absolutely infatuated with her. Her body is just a bonus. “I want you for a lot more than your body, lady.” Let’s make that clear. I’m about to reinforce that with a smoldering kiss, but there’s a knock at the door, and she’s off my lap quickly.
“Come in,” I order grumpily, and Pete wanders in with our breakfast. All I can think is... how can she sit on me while eating it? “Thanks, Pete.”
“Sir.” He leaves, and I pull the dome off the plate, pushing the tray toward her. “Eat your eggs, baby.” And be quick about it.
And she is. I’ve never seen a woman tuck food away so fast, and it makes me wonder if she’s eaten in the past week. I don’t like that thought. Did she lose her appetite? Was she as lovesick as me?
I cough my throat clear, and she looks up, her next forkful hovering in midair. I drop my mouth open, remaining relaxed back on the couch. Eggs Benedict is her favorite. Will she share? I couldn’t possibly challenge her if she refuses me. She’s my favorite, and I wouldn’t dream of sharing her.
